


Garmisch

by MizJoely



Series: SherlollyPrompts [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bedsharing, F/M, Post-The Final Problem, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 11:59:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9724928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: Molly and Sherlock on holiday in Germany. What could possibly go wrong?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Raelynn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raelynn/gifts).



> Prompt: The letter G, Rated E, Bedsharing Trope

The hotel was charming, the hostess at the desk friendly and helpful, the weather was a delight, the view breathtaking…and Molly Hooper was seriously annoyed.

“One room left? With a queen-sized bed only? No doubles? Sherlock, I thought you made the reservations weeks ago!” she grumbled as they walked to the elevator, suitcases in hand.

Sherlock shrugged, looking not at all apologetic. “Must have slipped my mind. Still, we’re lucky they had a room left and we’ll just have to make do. Won’t be any different than at your flat so I’m not sure what you’re so put out about.”

“I’m put out because you promised this holiday would be relaxing and enjoyable, and now it’s going to be _you_ hogging the covers when you actually sleep, and keeping _me_ awake the rest of the time because you’re bored!”

Sherlock shrugged again, and Molly resisted the urge to slug him. Hard. “Fine,” she huffed as they reached their floor. “But I get to pick the side!”

Not bothering to wait for him, she strode down the hall until she found their room…and then had to wait for him anyway as he had both key cards in his possession.

Even the sight of the lovely room - with its even lovelier view of the Alps - wasn’t enough to put her in a good mood. She and Sherlock had come to terms with their manipulated exchange of “I love you’s” by his secret psycho sister in the weeks that had passed since that awful day, and she didn’t want anything to ruin the tentative return to the status quo they’d achieved since then.

Such as sharing a bed. Which they hadn’t done since before the Magnussen case.

Oh, as much as she tried to tell herself it wouldn’t be different now, she knew it would, at least for her. She’d laid bare her soul during that phone call, and Sherlock had been forced to confront his own, deeply repressed feelings for her, and that wasn’t exactly the best way for such revelations to come about. So they’d talked and agreed that it was best to just pretend it had never happened - or at least, to pretend that both declarations had been of the ‘very close friends who would do anything for one another’ sort, rather than of the ‘I want to marry you and have your children sort’.

This vacation was going to ruin that, she just knew it. She wished she’d just told Sherlock that no, he didn’t have to take her to Germany to the site of the 1936 Winter Olympics as a thank you and apology for the upheaval Eurus had brought into her life. How he’d known it was someplace she’d always wanted to visit she wasn’t entirely sure, but he was Sherlock Holmes. He had his ways.

While she’d been brooding over the situation and staring fixedly at the mountains in the distance, Sherlock had apparently been busy; when she turned around, both suitcases were placed on the bench provided, and he was hanging up his suit jacket next to his Belstaff. She realized she was still wearing her own coat and wandered over to the closet to take care of it.

“You do know I deliberately left off making the reservations, right?”

She whipped her head around to stare at him, her coat dangling from one arm. “What? Why?”

Sherlock looked a bit uncomfortable, shifting his eyes to the side before finally meeting her gaze. “Because I wanted an excuse to sleep in a bed with you again. And I wanted to do it somewhere far away from London and bad memories and well-meaning friends who might interrupt us.”

“Well, you hardly ever sleep and I can get by on just a few hours at a time if I have to,” Molly reminded him, once she’d got over her being-flustered buffering (and decided not to yell at him for his confession). He reached for her coat and she let him hang it up. “So I don’t know why it would be a big deal if someone interrup…mph!”

She was silenced by his lips on hers, her eyes going wide and and then snapping shut as he pulled her close. When the kiss ended - a glorious, perfect first kiss, better than she’d ever imagined - he murmured against her ear, “I would like to do more than just sleep next to you, Molly, tonight and for the rest of our lives, if you’ll have me.”

“Wh-why?” she breathed as he stroked her back with one hand, holding her loosely with the other on her waist.

“Because the status quo sucks,” he said frankly. “To hell with what we agreed to, and to hell with waiting until my emotions are sorted out better, thank you John ‘Busybody’ Watson,” he added, clearly reliving - and discarding - advice his best friend must have given him. “I love you Molly, and you love me. You want to be with me, I want to be with you - and I really want to shag you into that featherbed right now, if you don’t mind.”

“O-okay,” she managed to squeak out, dazed and pleased and almost too overcome for words.

She found her voice quickly, however, once they were both naked and Sherlock was lying on top of her.

They made love with a fury and passion unmatched by the efforts of any partner Molly had ever shared herself with before. She could hardly believe it when she orgasmed not once but twice, followed swiftly by Sherlock’s release. After a brief period of recovery they made love again, then a third time, as if trying to make up for all the years they’d wasted as mere colleagues and eventual friends.

When they finally exhausted their overabundance of passion for one another, the room had gone dark and they were both starving. Room-service was ordered, delivered, and devoured…and then Molly discovered that no, passion hadn’t been exhausted, it had only been temporarily appeased.

And that was something she could live with - tonight, during the week’s holiday, and for the rest of their lives.

 


End file.
